


Keys and Candles

by monetrepreneur (orphan_account)



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: (sort of), Angst, Beth plays sad music on a piano, Canon Continuation, Canon deviation, Comfort, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Kissing, Mild cussing, One Shot, PWP without Porn, Romance, Underage - Freeform, Underage Kissing, and Daryl realises she's the sweetest thing he's ever seen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2015-04-04
Packaged: 2018-03-21 04:47:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3678114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/monetrepreneur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During 04x13, "Alone", Beth plays the piano and Daryl realises she's the sweetest thing he's ever seen. Then they both realise, having been separated from their group and forced from their home at the prison, not knowing if any of their friends are still alive or if they will ever see them again, the beds they've made for themselves are too far apart from each other to offer any comfort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keys and Candles

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters portrayed, nor do I claim to. All rights go to the creators of The Walking Dead.

_We have a home! I didn’t think we had a chance of finding anything even semi-permanent anymore, not after the prison, but we did. We found something. Even if we can’t live here, we can stay here for a while, and make a real home out of it for the time being. I think so, anyway. It’s a funeral home, all clean-like (except for the dust of course), and stocked up with cans and cans of food, Cola, peanut butter and jelly. Daryl’s been eating the jelly right out of the jar. It’s disgusting! There wasn’t any dust on the food though, so Daryl reckons maybe someone’s been living here and that’s why everything’s so clean. We decided we’d hole up here in the meantime anyway, and if they come back we can make it work. We have to make it work._

_It’s getting dark now, so I’m going to go and light some candles. This house is real big and full of useful stuff, so I found plenty while Daryl and I were clearing the rooms. I even found a few scented ones. Imagine that! Scented candles! That kind of stuff all seems so frivolous now, but the idea of having something just because it’s nice makes me feel all happy and warm inside  - and not from the candle flame. It also makes me sad though. ~~Maggie used to~~ Maggie likes scented candles. Vanilla is her favourite. Once she lit a whole bunch in her room and the curtains caught on fire! It nearly burned the whole house down, except Patricia came rushin in with a bucket of water and doused the whole thing. All of Maggie’s schoolbooks were ruined, and Maggie got real angry at Patricia, but Daddy said it was her own fault. After that, we weren’t allowed to burn candles in our rooms._

_I miss them. I miss all of them. Especially Daddy, because I know he ain’t coming back. At least with Maggie, there’s a chance. There is. There has to be. And I keep telling Daryl that, but he doesn’t seem to believe it. So I have to be strong for the both of us. He’s strong too, but it’s a different kind of strong. He’s the strong that’ll keep us goin on to see another day, and I’m the strong that’ll make us glad we have._

_Anyway, like I said, I’m gonna go and light those candles now. We’ve been here all day and there hasn’t been any walkers, the windows are shut up nice and tight and the doors are all locked, so it’ll be safe. I saw a grand piano in the parlour, too. My fingers are just itching to play!! And I wouldn’t mind singing some neither, but I wouldn’t want to annoy Daryl. I might do it, anyway. Just for a little while, till he comes back. And then we’ll see._

_We’ll see._

* * *

 

“Why don’t you go ahead, an’ play some more? Keep singin’,” Daryl murmured, reclining inside the coffin. The soft padding of the mattress felt heavenly beneath him, even if it _was_ slightly morbid, though he didn’t mind that much; at the end of the world, beggars couldn’t be choosers. He felt himself drifting off to sleep and figured Beth’s soft, musical voice would only sweeten the deal. He bet this would be the best night’s sleep he’d had in a long, long time.

“I thought my singin’ annoyed you.”

Daryl grunted. “Well, there ain’t no jukebox, so,” he replied, quirking his mouth ever so slightly as he tucked a hand behind his head. He raised an eyebrow, as if to say _‘Well, go on.’_

Nodding, Beth turned around, returning her attention once again to the grand piano. She cleared her throat, ran her fingertips across the delicate white ivory of the keys till she found her place, and picked up where she had left off.

_“And we'll buy beer to shotgun / And we'll lay in the lawn / And we'll be good…”_

She was a little rusty, hesitating over which key was which and occasionally hitting a sour note, but she never for a moment stopped singing, and Daryl hardly noticed the mistakes. On the contrary; he thought it was the loveliest thing he had ever heard. Every so often, the sweet melody would be interrupted by the hoot of an owl, or the sound of Daryl shifting in his coffin-bed, but Beth would keep right on playing. She looked like an angel, her mussed blonde hair glowing like a halo in the candlelight. As she reached the end of the song, she slowed, pressing each key deliberately, almost _cautiously_ , as if she didn’t want this moment to end.

Truth be told, neither did he.

_“Now I've got friendships to mend / I'm selfishly dispossessed / You don't wanna be my boyfriend / And that's probably for the best / Because that, that gets messy / And you will hurt me / Or I'll disappear / So we will drink beer all day / And our guards will give way / And we'll be good.”_

Beth’s lilting, Southern-accented voice wavered as she all but murmured the last lyric, the final note lingering prophetically in the air, like chill before snow. Something about that line, or perhaps the way she had spoken it, stirred something in him, and he felt a sudden, fierce protection of the girl sitting at the piano in front of him. Instinctively, his hunter’s body seized up, muscles tensed, fists clenched. _What the fuck?_ He regained his composure just in time, shaking off as much of the discomfort he could before Beth turned back to face him, smiling. Orange light flickered on her cheek, warming her flushed skin and casting deep shadows below her jawline and on her neck. Her light eyes shone, the reflection of the half-dozen tiny flames scattered atop the piano making them sparkle. He knew now why he had reacted the way he did – somewhere deep inside him, he cared for this girl beyond mere companionship. Beyond anything he felt for any of the friends he had made back at the prison. This was… different. This was special.

And wrong. But these days, it was becoming more and more difficult to tell wrong from right – and, more importantly, more difficult to care.

“So, how’d I do?” she asked. She was like a puppy dog, seeking praise at the completion of a new trick. It was adorable. “Better than a stuffy old jukebox, right?”

Definitely, but he’d sooner let a walker gnaw off his left foot than admit it. Instead, he snorted and made himself more comfortable in his coffin.

“Yeah yeah, sure.” He meant to come off nonchalant, uncaring, but his intent was softened by the amused curve of his lips. Beth had about half a moment to giggle and look pleased with herself before yawning so wide her jaw cracked audibly. “Tired, huh blondie?”

Beth nodded and stretched. “I guess so.” Standing, she gave the room a cursory sweep before her gaze settled back on Daryl.

“You want somethin’?” he grunted. Beth bit her lip and shuffled her feet awkwardly, clearly feeling uncomfortable. The furrow of her brow and restless drumming of her fingers against her side suggested she was pondering something, that she was internally conflicted. Daryl sat up, drawing his knees to his chest and resting his arms atop them. “Beth? You alrigh’?”

The girl nodded jerkily – she was doing a lot of nodding tonight – and sniffled faintly. “Yeah. Are you, uh – are you sleeping out here?”

“Yeah, I guess so.” Daryl chewed his lip, trying to read those wide, doe-eyes and that pretty porcelain face of hers without success. “Why?”

“Well, it’s just… The bedroom’s so far away, and I…”  Beth considered spinning some yarn about how she didn’t want to be alone in case walkers came a’knockin’, but the truth was that she just didn’t want to be alone. Period. “I just don’t want to be alone. Not after everything that’s happened, you know?”

Daryl cursed under his breath. “Shit, Beth.” Then: “Fine. This coffin was a little too roomy, anyway. Climb on up.”

She did, clumsily, almost falling into the older man’s lap more than once. Finally, she was lying beside him in the coffin. To her surprise, Daryl had been right about the bed; it was surprisingly comfortable, especially compared to the meagre prison mattress she’d been sleeping on for months. It was buoyant and fluffy, and best of all – clean. However, he had lied completely about the amount of space it offered. Even splayed half on top of him, it was a tight squeeze. Daryl cleared his throat awkwardly, fixing his gaze on the ceiling until Beth had finally found a comfortable position and stopped wriggling about. When she had, she sighed contentedly, and Daryl felt confident enough to steal a quick glance down at her.

Beth’s cheek was pressed flush against the pillow, blonde hair streaming across it like a river at sunrise. She was smiling, her eyes hooded with exhaustion. They were still sparkling, and Daryl realised it hadn’t been a reflection at all; it was just Beth. Sweet, vibrant Beth, who had cradled baby Judith with as much confidence as she yielded a weapon. She was too good for this world. But she was a survivor – she’d make it. He knew she would.

“So, Mr. Dixon,” she murmured jokingly, happily, sliding her hand up to meet his and lacing their fingers together, knowing, somehow, that he wouldn’t pull away (though he did grow stiff as a board at the intimacy) – and then she stopped. Sobered. Squeezed his hand tightly, and whispered, “Do you think we’ll find them? The others?”

She needed this, he knew. “I know we will,” Daryl replied, wrapping an arm chastely around the girl’s slim waist and squeezing.

Beth smiled softly and stretched up, gently touching her lips to Daryl’s. His stubble was prickly on her upper lip, and he tasted slightly of acrid cigarette smoke, but mostly he was just warm and soft and comforting, and everything she needed. She pulled away quickly, not wanting to overstep. He was a little misty-eyed and his jaw was tensed something awful, but it seemed alright. He didn’t pull away, at least, and he relaxed quickly. “I’m so glad we have each other, Daryl Dixon. I don’t know what I’d do if I was alone. If I didn’t have you.”

* * *

 

_I woke up this morning next to Daryl Dixon. During the night I’d thrown my leg over him and snuggled right up to his chest, probably because the candles had burnt out and I ~~wanted~~ needed to hug something warm. And boy, was he warm! It turned out I’d forgotten to shutter one of the windows too, but I didn’t regret it because lovely warm sunlight was falling all over us and lighting up his face just right, and it was so perfect, like a dream except I knew it was real and that made it so much better. And I could hear his heartbeat too, drumming right up into my ear. It was the most beautiful sound. Not just ‘cause it was a heartbeat, ‘cause it meant living, but because it was  his. I lay there listening to it for a while, and then he snored and I almost laughed out loud because, can you imagine what Daddy would have said, before all this? Daryl is definitely one of those ‘bad boys’ Daddy – and Maggie too! – always warned me to stay away from. It’s okay though, because I know that they both came to their senses in the end, once they’d learned how good and kind a man Daryl Dixon really is. And I know that if Daddy is watching (which I know he is!!!) he’d be real happy for me, that I have a good man like Daryl to keep me company and to look out for me._

_After last night, and this morning, I know one other thing, too:_

_~~ I love Daryl Dixon ~~ _

_(I had to scratch that out because it’s just too early. I know we don’t have time to waste anymore, but that’s just it. What if I’m just making up all these feelings inside my head because it’s the end of the world and I just need somebody to hold me, and I don’t give a damn who? Pardon my language. I mean, I don’t think that’s it anyway… I really do think I L-O-V-E him (still not writing it yet!) but I just want to make sure. And if everything goes the way I hope, I reckon I’ll be writing it down for real very soon. No take-backs! Whether or not it’s love, though, I know I feel something special for him. I guess I’ll just have to wait and see.)_

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Bethyl (Beth Greene/Daryl Dixon) fanfiction. I've fallen head over heels in love with this pairing - in much the same way I headcanon they have with each other - and I'll most likely be writing more, but I'd really like to know what you guys thought. Any feedback is much appreciated! Thanks for reading. (P.S. I sort of suck at titles. And summaries. Sorry about that.)


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